


Cliffside

by StorySnek



Category: LISA (Video Games), LISA: the painful
Genre: Also there’s actually not much Brad/Terry here it’s just at the end, Gen, Like it gets legitimately sad partway in, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, but I promise that it gets better after that, i love you terry, this is Terry’s show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 01:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StorySnek/pseuds/StorySnek
Summary: Terry takes a moment to himself. A moment to sit, relax and think.It’s nice to sit high up and look down at the world below.It’s nice not to be alone anymore.





	Cliffside

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write something for LISA. I asked my friend what to write. They said “Terry being happy”.  
> I... mostly made good on that
> 
> Also this is my first fic on AO3! I decided why not get an account while I’m at it. Maybe this’ll inspire me to make more stuff. Hope y’all like it!

Terry found that he enjoyed the feeling of being high. High in the literal sense, being far above the ground, not like the heights the others reached when they took their Joy. That wasn’t for him. 

It wasn’t like he’d never considered it, when those men in their smiling masks stumbled upon his little village and offered their treasure. It was something to numb the unending misery of his solitude, to make him feel a happiness that wasn’t just pretend. But he always refused, tempted as he might have been. If he muddled his mind like that, then how could he write his hints properly? What if he wrote the wrong hint and someone got hurt? No, he could never forsake his duty as Hint Lord for something so worthless as a quick high.

Terry still encountered Joy as part of Brad’s gang. Many members needed it to keep the shadow of their withdrawal from crippling them in battle, or to gain inhuman strength. It had been offered to him many times, a way to be strong in battle, to actually be useful for once. But if anything, Terry wanted it even less than before. He saw how much people relied on the pills, how it snuck its way into every conversation, the frenzy when the gang finally found some hidden around the wastes. Most of all, he noticed the looks of regret that his friends tried to hide when they realized they’d lost to the drugs again. Terry didn’t want any of that. Sitting and watching the world below was fine with him.

——

That day he had managed to climb up to the second highest point in the Area Two Crossroads, as it was called. He rested his back against the massive stone tower that loomed over him, disappearing into the sky. Stories said that brave men who managed to scale the obelisk would be granted the meaning of life. That sounded all well and good to Terry, but there was no way he could climb that thing. Even getting to where he was took at least an hour of climbing and hiking, and he could feel his poor hamstring singing in pain. He tried to ignore the feeling as much as possible. No pain, no gain. Those were words to live by.

Brad in particular was a devout follower of this advice, and ever the masochist he had once decided to scale the massive tower, hoping for some wisdom in his quest, or at least a good vantage point to scope out Buddy’s location. The group all gathered round the base of the tower to watch as the man ascended up the rope and vanished into the distance.  
It took hours for him to return, and the look in his eyes was one of a man going through the five stages of grief simultaneously. Everyone asked what was at the tower’s peak, what secrets it held. Brad turned to his gang, hands turned red and raw by the rope, face set in a grim expression, and said to them all:

_“We will never speak of this again.”_

  

Terry smiled at the memory. What a funny story that was. It was nice to have some stories to tell… or at least, people to hear them. He had tried to tell his fans stories. To regale them with his life before and after the world’s end, the places he traveled to spread his hints. No one ever laughed, or cried, or told a story of their own. They just stared with their lifeless eyes. Soon enough Terry felt judgement in their gaze, felt scorn and ridicule. Poor, sad Terry, telling stories to no one.

Terry’s smile faded and he sighed, running his hands through his long, dark hair as he tried to shake those thoughts away. He moved forward slowly, giving a long, quiet hiss as his hamstring’s singing reached a painful crescendo. Ignoring it, he crawled away from the tower and sat at the edge of the cliff, dangling his legs over the side and watching the world below as it moved.

The rest of Brad’s gang had scattered across the various levels of the Crossroads, each wrapped up in their own little activity. Terry’s eyes drifted from place to place, soaking in the colourful portrait of humanity that sat below him. 

Birdy and Olan were sitting beside Nern, who seemed to be deep into another one of his tirades. Every so often the two listeners would each pick up a nearby bottle of alcohol and simultaneously take a drink. Terry couldn’t exactly make out what Nern was saying, but he figured that Birdy and Olan were finally playing the drinking game they had discussed before. The poor men thought it would be a fun idea to take a drink every time Nern did something like talk about food or insult his wife, and while Terry found it funny, he knew those two would not be having nearly as good a time next morning. 

Harvey, Carp, Tiger Man and Yazan were all sitting together below, chatting with one another. Terry knew that Harvey and Carp got along well, considering both were similarly fishy, and seemed to know each other from the Fishman Village. Yazan and Tiger Man were also fond of each other, sharing their love of cats. Tiger Man was the only other person Yazan would so much as trust with his precious Kat, who was sitting in his lap and purring that very moment.  
That being said, Harvey and Yazan hated each other’s guts, considering Kat once tried to eat Harvey, he gave her several paper cuts, and this made Yazan furious. However, Carp and Tiger Man seemed to be friends, the two strange animal men admired each other quite a lot. It was because of this, and the fact that Carp and Tiger Man weren’t very talkative, that Yazan and Harvey were able to set aside their differences and talk to each other, maybe even becoming friends with someone who was once an enemy. Terry found it all quite heartwarming, and seeing them getting along filled him with hope. 

Garth seemed to be making a new masterpiece, drawing on the cliff side with his hoarded supplies, mostly chalk and a couple small containers of what Terry really hoped was paint. It probably was, as he didn’t know where else Garth would get such vibrant yellows, whites, and blues, but the red still unsettled him. Terry couldn’t actually see the art from where he was sitting, but he could see Garth turning around every so often to stare at a lounging Clint Olympic, who was posing in a manner that only increased his incredible handsomeness. Terry could guess what Garth was drawing from there, though he had no doubt the artist would bring his own… signature style to the piece. Terry didn’t judge, he liked making art too, and had spent a couple sessions drawing together with Garth. He admired the artist regardless of his preferred subject matter. He’d have to peek at the finished work whenever he was done sitting and went down to join the others. He was looking forward to seeing this new artistic tribute to Clint’s handsomeness and Garth’s horniness.

Queen Roger and Rooster were sitting together, Queen with his legs crossed behind Rooster, running fingers through his comb of messy red hair. He seemed to be giving Rooster some sort of new hairstyle, which Terry was surprised to see Rooster sitting still for. The man was notoriously cold to other humans, and often kept to himself. Terry didn’t think Rooster liked people touching him, considering he’d recently slapped Terry’s hand away for trying to give him a nice pat on the back after battle. But there he was, sitting quietly and even looking relaxed as Queen gently started to braid part of his hair. Terry knew the two of them were very respectful of one another. Queen wasn’t a fan of anyone who thought or said nasty things about women, especially Buddy, and Rooster thought this entire war was disgusting and ridiculous. They had bonded over being ‘the sensible ones’ which Terry admitted was well deserved title.

Terry didn’t know what to think about the war, about their quest, about Buddy. He didn’t know what would happen after Brad finally found Buddy. He tried to put it out of mind. He knew that if he stayed alive then he would cross that bridge when he came to it. No point worrying about it now on such a lovely day.

Throughout his observing a strange melody began to fill the air. A song both haunting and moving, terrible and fantastic. A song that could only belong to Bo Wyatt. Terry’s watched as the towering man sat cross legged on the ground, completely still except for the hands plucking at his guitar, casting out its symphony for all to hear. Bo made Terry realize how much he missed music. He missed how music made him feel. How it felt to listen to sad music when you were alone and happy music when you were excited, to feel a song deep in your bones. This music wasn’t the same, it wasn’t polished or produced, but Terry could still feel it. The song felt mournful, a look back on everyone they’d lost along the way, everything that was taken from them, how cruel and uncaring this world was. But it felt hopeful too, because here they were, sitting here as friends. In spite of everything they were together, they were human, they were alive.  
Geese Thompson slowly walked up to Bo, the neck of what Terry hoped was a mask swaying gently, before sitting down beside him. Then, after a few moments, Geese began to sing. The lyrics were clumsy from what Terry could make out. The rhymes were simple as always, and Geese only seemed to get the key and tempo right about half the time. But… somehow it sounded beautiful. Somehow this half heard chorus spoke to Terry in a way that he hadn’t been spoken to in awhile, maybe forever. He felt… like he belonged. Like he was where he was always meant to be. Sure, everything was chaotic and unsettling and often seemed hopeless, but like the song, there was beauty beneath it. There was always beauty, there was a loving heart within humanity that showed itself even here, even now, even at the end of the world. 

Terry’s vision of the gang below turned blurry as tears misted his eyes. He felt overwhelmed with emotion, it sat blooming in his chest like a bouquet of those dainty flowers dotted around Olathe. It was so abstract, so incomprehensible, that for a moment Terry remembered why people took the Joy, even while knowing what it would do to them. Sometimes emotions, even good ones, were like sitting in the ocean, like having wave after wave crash into you with no escape. Being submerged in something big, powerful and inescapable. 

It wasn’t so long ago when that ocean threatened to drown him completely. Involuntarily his mind wandered wearily back to the days before Brad’s gang, arriving at his little Hint Village, the kingdom he built himself. The home of his descent into hopelessness.

——

It had started off fine. He never really had any friends, so there wasn’t anyone to miss after The Flash, not really. He was still around, and that had to mean something. He had to do something with the life he was allowed to keep while so many were lost. So he made his hints, he passed on all the knowledge he could think of in this new, dangerous world. He never got anything in return, and he tried to be fine with that, as a true hero does good things because they’re good, not for any sort of reward. But he was kidding himself. He wanted friends, he wanted acceptance, he wanted adoration. Something. God, anything.

He made the village after that, piece by piece. His adoring fans in their mannequin splendour, his glorious throne. This is what he deserved. The world had given him nothing. He deserved to be King. And so he ruled his empty little paradise. He played pretend every day, living in a fantasy world. Poor, sad Terry. Telling stories to no one.

The loneliness crept into his chest day by day, like an infection. It clawed at the walls of his fantasy, of his denial, ruthless in its attack on him. It would break through the cracks sometimes, showing him what his world really was.  
There was a cliff near Terry’s throne, overlooking a drop obscured by a swirling mist. Terry found himself glimpsing at it, a little more each day. One day he just... stood there. He stared down into the abyss, and it stared back at him. It knew the truth he would not accept. Terry was alone. He had always been alone. He would always be alone. He began to wonder if anyone would miss him if he vanished from the world, same as all those women. But he always fled back into the safety of his denial.

The loneliness finally broke through one day, shattering the denial which protected him and watching it all crumble to pieces. Terry truly realized the pointlessness of it all as he was writing his little journal logs. The loneliness had begun to stain the previous pages, but as Terry wrote this newest entry, it really began to break free.

__

_‘Why am I writing these?’_ he suddenly thought to himself.  
_‘Who’s going to see them but me? Does anyone even read my hints? Does anyone even care about me?’_

His motions became chaotic, pencil writing nonexistent words, symbols of his despair carved onto paper.

_‘Why? Why? Why? Why does nobody care about me? I just want someone to care. I don’t want to be alone, I can’t be alone. I can’t do this anymore.’_

Terry’s chest began heaving, tears rushing to his eyes and spilling over, trailing down his face and onto the paper. They smudged the symbols and turned them more abstract. No words, but it showed his mind clearer than any words could.  
In his frenzy he caught sight of a fan staring close by, standing silent and unmoving.

_‘What is he looking at? He? He? Ha. Haha. It’s just a doll. It’s just a doll it’s just a doll it’s always just been a doll! They’re all just dolls! They don’t careaboutme! Nobodycaresaboutme! StopstaringatmestopstopstOPSTOPSTOP’_

His thoughts turned into a wordless storm as he staggered to his feet at lashed out at the staring fan, hitting it in the head with all his might.  
His fist left a small indent in the painted bag that was the fan’s head, before it puffed out again. No impact, not even a scratch. Terry’s own hand hurt from the punch, his knuckles scraped by the burlap. What a joke.

_‘Weak. Alone. Weak. Alone. WeakAloneWeakAloneWeakAloneWeakAlone.’_

Terry’s thoughts echoed in his head like a chant as his legs started walking on their own. He moved as though in a dream, floating along to the rhythm of the chant until he came to a stop once more at the cliff’s edge. He stared down into it, and it stared back. The abyss felt like the only thing in this world that’d look him in the eye.

Nobody would miss him, would they? Nobody would care if there weren’t any hints. Who the hell was he even helping? Did anyone care? Did he matter at all to anyone? 

His feet were at the edge, the tears in his eyes making the mist shift in a strange new motion. It would be simple. He wouldn’t have to do this anymore. He wouldn’t have to live alone. Maybe he’d even see all the women again.

But… he couldn’t. He stared and stared and stared but he couldn’t move. His legs were frozen. He couldn’t do this either. He couldn’t do anything. After what felt like hours of standing, crying, staring, he finally moved away. He turned around, brushed the tears from his eyes, and started walking. Out of the village, out of his kingdom, no location in mind. He would let Olathe decide what would happen to him. He assumed he’d be murdered by gangs or even mutilated by one of the monsters that appeared sometimes. 

Olathe decided to show him mercy, and all she threw at him was a stray dog. Something Terry was afraid of sure, and his panic to get away from it led him to scramble up a tree and pull something, but it also led someone else to him.

Brad Armstrong.

Terry remembered that moment so clearly, when he looked down to see Brad staring back at him. With his bushy beard and dark, mysterious eyes, his flowing shawl and the muscular arms hidden beneath, he looked like a true king, far more than any kind of ruler Terry had pretended to be. Terry asked for his help in defeating the dog, and the man did so without complaint, saving him.  
After the beast was defeated and he was safe, Terry started running his mouth, he couldn’t help it. He started talking on and on, about how Brad was tough and could probably handle a lot of pain (that part felt incredibly important for him to say, as though passing on a message from a higher power), and then introduced himself. He lied about his fans, or rather he stretched the truth, that’s how he thought about it. He did have fans… they just weren’t real, was all. But he had to seem cool to this man, this tough, powerful man who had saved his life without a second thought. 

It wasn’t enough, and Brad soon turned away, which is when Terry took a chance. The man came to him alone, without a gang, aimless. There was loneliness behind those eyes, Terry could see it. Or at least that’s what he wanted to see. He knew what it was like to feel alone, to feel so alone it started tearing you up inside like a wild animal. Maybe he and this man… neither of them had to be alone. Before he knew what he was saying he’d already insisted on joining Brad. And then the strangest thing happened…

He didn’t say no.

He didn’t say anything, but Terry had been silently expecting to get shot down, and was shocked when he wasn’t immediately turned away. That was good enough for him, no, that was fantastic! Terry had a friend now, an honest to god friend.

He followed Brad to his home only for them to find a hellish scene before them. Blood everywhere, a dying man leaned against the house. Terry watched as Brad leaned close, and the dying man whispered to him. Something about a secret… and could it be? A “she”? A... _girl?_ This was clearly some very intense shit Brad was a part of, but he was Terry’s first friend, his only friend. He wasn’t about to let him go off into danger all by himself. Even if Brad insisted he could go alone, said this was something he had to do, Terry wanted to help. He lied again, told Brad he was strong, he could protect him. And again… Brad didn’t say no. He wasn’t jumping for joy either, but he allowed Terry to come with him on his epic quest.

Of course, Terry’s claimed strength was quickly shown to be utter bullshit. Any attempt to fight of their enemies did absolutely nothing. Desperate to prove his worth, Terry did all he could to help. He insulted their foes, cheered Brad on, even tried to do some silly little dances to help lift his spirits. But compared to Brad Armstrong, this martial arts master who could beat a man to death with nothing but his bare fists, it felt so insignificant. 

And then… the truck hit them. Terry only took in the scene in pieces. The searing pain. The blackness rushing up to pull him under. Fading in and out of consciousness, taking in snapshots of the world before losing to the dark. The sun baked dirt hard against his cheek and ribs. Men surrounding them. Brad standing there, staring with those mysterious eyes, filled with silent rage and recollection. A deer, looking down at him with pity. A deal proposed, all of their belongings, Brad’s belongings, or Terry. Weak, insignificant Terry, who couldn’t hurt a soul, even if he wanted to, even if he was trying so hard to be strong for once. It was an easy choice, wasn’t it? Of course this was the way it ended. Olathe only gave Terry a friend so he could be betrayed and left to die, and he was a fool for ever thinking otherwise. What a cruel fucking joke his life was.  
Those were his last few thoughts before he plummeted into unconsciousness one last time, resigned to his fated forgotten death.

But fate had other plans that day, and Terry awoke to see Brad standing over him, staring down with that shadowed, unreadable expression. Looking back on it now, and even when he woke up then, Terry didn’t really remember what happened. There was a truck, he knew that much, and then Brad was talking with some people, maybe. All he knew then and recalled now was his head hurt like hell. Sore and confused, Terry did what he did best and began to talk again, about this being a bad omen. True enough, he’d never gotten hit by a truck in the Land of Hints, for all its solitude it was at least safe. But no matter how many tough situations he got in with Brad, no amount of bad luck the two seemed to face, Terry knew it would never outweigh the good fortune of being able to meet him. He said as much to Brad then, expressing that he was just so happy to be his friend. Brad said nothing as always, but Terry couldn’t shake the feeling that Brad cared about him. Even through the pain he was filled with a great relief, and the feeling that he was actually worth something to someone.  
It was, without a doubt, the best day of his life.

Their adventure continued on, fighting new foes, exploring new areas, meeting new friends. Terror and tragedy leapt at them from every corner but Brad’s ever expanding gang pressed on. And through it all, Brad kept sacrificing everything for him. His belongings, a spot in battle that could’ve belonged to a stronger party member… he even gave up his own arm so that Terry could live. Terry never thought he would be able to go on such an adventure, and he never ever thought someone would give up so much for him. Even if he wasn’t strong or smart or handsome like the others… Brad kept him around and kept him safe. Because… they were friends!

——

Terry slowly hiked back out from memory lane, leaving his thoughts behind and returning to the present reality. As he did he became aware of two things.  
First, while he was remembering his darkest moments, he’d begun the cry. He could feel the stinging behind his eyes, the tears that still trailed down his cheeks and the paths of salt they left behind.  
Second, while he recounted the best day of his life, he’d begun to laugh. Right now he was still doing both, gripping his knees as the sobbing laughter rumbled through him, making his chest ache with the sheer emotion of it all. The strange noise echoed through the air, going unnoticed or unremarked on by most of the gang members, who were all doing their own thing.  
All but one. All but Brad Armstrong. 

Once again he stared upwards at Terry. He was the one person not doing anything, save for watching Mad Dog as he started the campfire. Observing silently as a small fireball was cast into the pit, lighting it up to a scatter of applause from whoever noticed. It used to be Brad’s job to light the fire, but that ended when his arm was sawed from his body. So now he watched.  
And now he was watching Terry.

Terry took some deep breaths, silencing his fits of crying laughter so Brad wouldn’t get concerned. He beamed down at the bearded man and gave him a big wave, still so happy to be here with him. His friend. Brad kept his gaze steady for a few moments before silently walking towards the cliff. Terry watched in awe as Brad scaled the many jutting cliffs at least three times as fast as he did. He moved with a power and a grace you wouldn’t expect from the man, especially with only one arm. He really was the strongest man Terry had ever known, probably the strongest man in all Olathe. Watching him took Terry’s breath away. 

Eventually Brad hauled himself up onto the ledge Terry sat on, the two staring at one another for several moments. Terry watched Brad’s poncho rise and fall as he caught his breath, Brad watched as Terry gently swung his legs back and forth off the edge, before turning to the side to face him.

“Hey, bro.” He greeted with a big smile, gently rubbing his hamstring which did not appreciate being moved. Despite the grin, his voice was still brittle from the tears.

“What are you doing here alone?” Brad asked, curiosity just barely breaking through his normal deadpan tone.

“Just thinking to myself.” 

Brad raised an eyebrow at the answer.  
“Don’t know why you’d do that. You sounded miserable.”

Terry blinked a few times, trying to find a good answer.

“I don’t know. It does hurt sometimes, that’s true. I’ve been through some hard shit, dude.” He sighed, drumming his fingers against his leg. 

“But I guess we all have. Thing is… even if it’s hard, I kinda started realizing how far I’ve come you know?”

Brad stared blankly, studying Terry with those dark eyes of his.

“Hm. You have gotten stronger than when we first met. I’ll give you that.”

Terry grinned again, ecstatic to be given such a compliment from Brad Armstrong.

“Yeah! Thanks bro! But it’s not just that. I was really alone you know? I was always really alone. Even before all this, always dude. But…” 

Terry trailed off, looking back down at the various members of Brad’s gang as they all laughed and talked and sang together. He took a moment to listen to Bo and Geese’s song as it echoed through the air, spiraling off into brand new melodies.

“Now I… I have a place where I belong, dude. A place with you, and a place with them, with everyone. I feel like I’m with… family.”

Terry smiled at Brad, before his expression dropped, replaced by a horrible realization. He said the F word to Brad. He really was such a goddamn idiot. Brad was notorious for never talking about his family, doing everything in his power to avoid the topic. And yet here Terry was, calling the lot of them, drunk, mad, stupid fools, Brad’s family. Putting them on the same level as the daughter Brad was searching to the ends of the earth for. How fucking stupid was he?

Brad was still, eyes staring right into Terry, as though they were arrows piercing his heart. Terry watched in terrified silence as Brad clenched and unclenched his fists. Moments passed that felt like years, before Brad finally spoke.

“Family… huh?”

Terry nodded slowly, bracing himself for Brad’s anger at the sheer stupidity of even suggesting the gang was anything like a family. How sentimental. How naive. How weak.

Brad’s beard twitched as the corner of his mouth curved into the smallest smile.

“Hrm… Okay. Family. Sounds nice.”

All the tension that had frozen every muscle and bone in Terry’s body suddenly melted at once, and for a moment he started cry-laughing again. Brad stared at him and sighed, though that hint of a smile still remained. Terry was weak, soft, and simple. This was all true. But… Brad had to admit, he was happy he met Terry too.

“Can I sit here?” Brad asked, waiting for Terry to calm down.

Terry eventually got a hold of himself, brushing the tears from his eyes, and nodded vigorously. Brad lowered himself to the ground, knees creaking softly as he sat cross legged beside Terry.

The two stared out at the rest of the gang, feeling the warm wind as it blew around them, carrying the chatter and song through the air. Feeling emboldened, Terry gently moved his hand onto Brad’s, who said nothing, and didn’t move. But by this time, Terry knew Brad well enough to know that meant he was fine with it.  
Neither of them had to be alone ever again.

——

Terry didn’t need the Joy. Maybe back in his village, if he’d stayed there long enough, he would’ve needed its numbness to stay alive in that horrible isolation. He would’ve eventually said yes to one of those Joy Boys. Maybe in some other life Terry would become a twisted monster, staring silently off the cliffside of his kingdom, the ruler of nothingness. But here? Now? Terry didn’t want to numb this. He didn’t want to numb the lilting melody of the improvised song, the sight of different people sharing their laughter and love with one another. The warmth of a hand resting under his own, arm pressed to the man he loved most in all the world. How could he numb any of this?

No, Terry didn’t need the Joy. He didn’t want the Joy. Because his heart was already filled full of joy, and it was a feeling so powerful, so massive and so beautiful, that all the little blue pills in Olathe couldn’t ever hope to contain it.


End file.
